


Here

by jawsandbones



Series: Ficlits [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, So this is smut, just some tender and enthusiastic love, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: Dorian isn't used to waking up in someone else's bed. Dorian isn't used to that someone waiting for them.---Dorian pushes himself up from the pillows, and Mahanon immediately looks over at the sudden shift in the bed. Bursting into a wide grin at the sight of him, allowing him to brush his hair to the side. Dorian flutters kisses at his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck, and fingertips trace over his spine. Counting each bump, one by one, all the way down his back. Dorian settles his chin on Mahanon’s shoulder, his hand still drifting lazily up and down.





	Here

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. One leg bent, a knee against his chest, the other dangling over, toes touching against the floor. The blanket is haphazardly draped around him, and his normally tied up hair now falls down his back. An elbow, on that knee, palm against his forehead, fingers in his hair. In his other hand, he holds the small book, flipping pages with his thumb. Sunlight streams through open windows, and Dorian thinks he might be able to count every bump of his spine. If not for his hair.

Dorian pushes himself up from the pillows, and Mahanon immediately looks over at the sudden shift in the bed. Bursting into a wide grin at the sight of him, allowing him to brush his hair to the side. Dorian flutters kisses at his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck, and fingertips trace over his spine. Counting each bump, one by one, all the way down his back. Dorian settles his chin on Mahanon’s shoulder, his hand still drifting lazily up and down.

“And what exactly has you so captured this morning?” he asks. Mahanon looks at the book, looks at him, back at the book – and promptly tosses it across the room. Turning instantly, quickly, hands on Dorian’s shoulders, pressing him back down onto the bed. Straddling him triumphantly, hair like a veil around them. A sly smile on his face, a pleased huff as he looks at him, pointed ears perked and twitching happily.

“Nothing but you,” he says. His hands travel over his shoulders, down his arms, wrap around his wrists. Moving them above Dorian’s head, keeping them pressed against the bed, thoroughly pinned.

“You realize you’re only making that book even more interesting – I can’t stop thinking about it,” he says. Mahanon smirks as he leans down, that waterfall of hair pooling beside Dorian’s head. He always licks his lips before he plants the kiss. Wet and warm, lazy with the haze of morning. He takes his time with it, draws it out, inhaling quietly, exhaling the groan as he opens his mouth to him. Dorian allows himself to be kissed, wants to be kissed, and feels the way Mahanon shifts over him. Breaking the kiss as he leans back almost completely, his hands against Dorian’s chest.

“What are you thinking about now?” He practically crows it, his chin held high, hair spilling over his shoulder. The lines of his _vallaslin_ on his face disappear into it, although, still slightly visible on the sides, where it’s kept shaved short. His favorite lines are the ones on his lips. They’re the ones that guide him back. He loves the dots under his eyes, the freckles on his cheeks. The _vallaslin_ that runs down his throat, vines that twist around his body. Covering him completely, some green thing grown from inside him, spilling outwards onto his skin.

Dorian looks up at him, equally cocky. “The book,” he says. Mahanon’s ears flatten, the frown, playful pout, and he’s leaning over again, tousling his hands through Dorian’s hair. He laughs as he reaches up, catches him by the wrists and holds him still. “Kiss me again and that might change.” Letting him go carefully, and Mahanon folds quickly, elbows planting on the bed, fingers curling in Dorian’s hair. Long and languishing, tongue presses against tongue, mouth warm and wanting.

Dorian lets his hands drift at his back again. He knows there’s a splattering of freckles on his shoulders, a pattern of rain that covers his every inch. Moving down the curves of him, settling his hips, and he feels him rock against him slightly. Mahanon’s knees are pressed against the mattress, feet underneath him, and the blanket has disappeared, tangled somewhere underneath Dorian’s legs. Opening his eyes slowly, Mahanon keeps his face close, nose barely touching nose. “And now?” Dorian wraps an arm around his waist and deftly turns them, Mahanon’s legs wrapping around him.

Hair splayed around him, arms entwining behind Dorian’s neck. There’s a reason why Mahanon sits at the edge of the bed in the morning. He never leaves it, not until Dorian’s awake. He’s so used to others leaving, or even, himself. Quickly hurrying away, from one port, one storm, to the next. He finds safety here, with him. The harbor of his heart. Mahanon’s hands cup his face, brush thumbs over his cheekbones. That same green is in his eyes, but deeper here, and he holds Dorian’s gaze. He wears every feeling freely, and it’s so easy to see the love, the joy. “I think you know,” Dorian murmurs as he leans down to kiss him once again.

Mahanon’s fingertips dance over his shoulders, slip down his back. Back up again, threading through his hair. Restless, unable to settle, wanting to touch even more. Dorian’s focus moves to the line of his jaw. Tilting his head back, and Dorian’s teeth find the soft flesh of his neck, a kiss to the goblet of his throat. The guiding lines of his _vallaslin_ , and he follows it with his mouth. To the center of his chest, feeling his heart beat underneath the palm of his hand. Mahanon bites his bottom lip, holds back the grin, the shiver of pleasure when a thumb flicks over his nipple.

Stretching his arms above his head, winding into the blankets, as Dorian maps his way down his body. The heels of his feet are planted into the mattress, legs bent, and Dorian between them. A hand, at the back of his thigh, tickling touch that sends the shiver up Mahanon’s spine. He props himself up on elbows, looks down to watch him. Dorian looks up at him, an intense gaze, and Mahanon’s cock twitches. He shifts, standing, holds a tight grip around Mahanon’s hips. He pulls him to the edge of the bed, while he kneels against the floor. He takes a moment to reach over into the drawer of the bedside table. Taking the small vial, keeping it close.

His hands move underneath Mahanon’s thighs, propping his legs up over his shoulders. Dorian kisses his knee, a trail down his thigh. He pauses, halfway, to press his mouth tightly against him, leave a mark. He kisses it carefully, this red stain against olive skin. Then and only then, does he continue his descent. Teasing breath against the mound of him, upwards, against the underside of his cock. Mahanon’s still grinning, unable to look away, breathing heavy as he watches him. Biting his bottom lip still, and it muffles the groan, but his eyelashes flutter, when Dorian runs his tongue from the base of him to the tip. Circling the head of him, squeezing his hands against his thighs.

Mahanon’s hands are clenched into the blankets, squeezing tightly when Dorian wraps a hand around his cock. Holding him still, steady, as his mouth swallows him whole. Warm, wet, tight, and the groan is stuttered as it passes his lips. Tilting his head back, hair moving with him, gasping at the ceiling as Dorian’s hand pumps him, tongue lapping at the salt that leaks from him. Mahanon has his heels on the slight frame of the bed, but his legs tremble as Dorian sucks him.

That free hand moves from Mahanon’s thigh to the vial still resting on the bed. With his thumb, he pops off the stopper, and messily coats his fingers with the oil. It leaks onto the blankets, drips onto the floor. The rhythm of his mouth never ceases, the dip and upwards, other hand pumping in time. Mahanon inhales sharply at the first touch of warm fingers against his ass. A patient finger circles his entrance, but Mahanon is not a patient man. Reaching down, and fingers thread through Dorian’s hair.

Ignoring it completely, Dorian focuses exactly on what he’s doing. Teasing touch with his finger, pressing his tongue against the slit of his cock. “Dorian, _please_.” It’s tempting to leave him languishing, but instead Dorian obliges him, presses his finger inside of him. Curling to that spot, stroking it as he begins a separate rhythm. Mahanon licks his lips, closes his eyes, and basks in the feeling of it all. His hips shift upwards, wanting to fuck into his mouth, but he forces himself still. His hand slips from Dorian’s hair as he falls, back against the bed, and hands twisting in his own hair.

He shoots back up again when a second finger joins the first. On elbows once again, and this time, he can’t stop the subtle thrust of his hips. Rocking backwards against his hand, upwards into his mouth. Dorian takes his time with it, settling the rhythm, stretching him kindly, gently. Little grunts and groans, mewling sounds of want and pleasure slip from Mahanon’s lips. Dorian appreciates each and every sound, every tremble, and every shift. “Want,” Mahanon growls. With a vulgar pop, his cock slips from Dorian’s mouth.

Dorian keeps his face near it, warm breath against the slickness of it. “Such a child. Want this, want that,” he teases. Pumping his fingers in and out of him, watching how he writhes when he adds a third. Regaining control of himself, Mahanon fixes him with a greedy glare.

“Want you,” he says.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Dorian asks as he rises to his feet, taking himself in hand. Covering his cock in the rest of the oil, and he’s just as eager. Mahanon surges forward, pulls Dorian down. Pressing him into the bed, moving to straddle him once again. Knees planted, proudly on top of him. Dorian’s hands move over Mahanon’s chest, his stomach, and his hips. Mahanon reaches behind him, holds Dorian’s cock steady. His other hand is splayed at the very center of Dorian’s chest, fingertips digging into his skin as he slowly lowers himself down. Burying him inside of him to the hilt, grinding against him, getting used to the feeling.

“Fuck,” Mahanon breathes. Dorian pushes himself up as much as possible, an arm around Mahanon’s waist, the other steadying him against the bed. Teeth against his collarbone, and kisses follow. Mahanon’s hands find their way to his shoulders, the nape of his neck, fingers twisting against the soft hair that wisps there. Safely nestled in Dorian’s embrace, Mahanon begins to move. Wet from Dorian’s mouth, his own pre-cum, his cock slides against Dorian’s stomach as he moves. Bending over, his mouth against the crown of Dorian’s head.

Dorian holds him steady, encourages every thrust. His eyes closed, head resting against Mahanon, losing himself in the feeling of it. Being so very close, so very wanted. Kiss after kiss against his crown, fluttering touch against his nape. “Dorian, Dorian, _Dorian_ ,” Mahanon is muttering, voice low and hoarse, wanting no one else but him. It’s a repeat from earlier. Holding him tightly, flipping them deftly, and Mahanon’s legs wrap around Dorian’s waist.

Thrusting hard and deep as he kisses Mahanon, tongue slipping against tongue. Breathing hard and fast, and he finds his hand, winds them together. The other holds him steady over him, while Mahanon has his hand against Dorian’s hip. “Gods, you feel good,” he says, forehead pressed against forehead. Mahanon’s hand finds its way to his nape once again. Keeping Dorian close as his legs lock, toes curl. He brushes kisses against Mahanon’s cheeks, his lips, his cheeks once again, and back to his lips.

Mahanon grunts, shuddering as Dorian’s hand moves from his, reaches between him, begins to stroke Mahanon’s cock. It doesn’t take much. Matching the rhythm with which they fuck, and Mahanon’s head tips back, gasping as he spills seed over his belly. It’s permission for Dorian to follow, slipping from him, Mahanon’s hand joining his around Dorian’s cock, stroking him to completion. He wants nothing more than to throw himself in the bed beside him, but he forces himself to get up, retrieve the towel.

He sits on the edge of the bed as he leans over, kisses Mahanon’s forehead as he cleans them both up as best he can. Satisfied, he throws the towel to the floor, crawls back into the bed beside him. They face each other, laying on their side, legs tangled up together, arms wrapped around each other. Mahanon brushes a curl of hair from Dorian’s forehead. Nose touches nose, and this kiss is softer than all the others. Desperately pressed, gently given. “I love you,” Mahanon tells him. Even without Mahanon saying it, Dorian would know it.

Snuggling closer, he would be content to spend the entire day in bed. He wishes they could. “Nan,” he says, fondly using his nickname. He’s here, in his arms, so close to his heart. He wants to keep him here always. “My _amatus_.” The grin bursts across Mahanon’s face, and the next kiss is furiously content, hopelessly fluttering, again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/post/146678434099)


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